


full disclosure

by sannlykke



Series: anachronisms of a floating world [3]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Steampunk, M/M, Secret Relationship, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-18 16:09:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18702976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sannlykke/pseuds/sannlykke
Summary: “I’d like you to meet one of the new recruits,” Akashi says finally, after he’s done sorting through the piles. He smiles down at Mayuzumi and holds out a roll of newspapers. “Not today, mind you, but well… you’d be so kind as to help me put these back in place first, won’t you?”“Hell no,” Mayuzumi replies, but he does so anyway like the fool that he is.





	full disclosure

**Author's Note:**

> rolls the fuck back into this 'verse after like, uhh, forever. happy mayuaka day! _(:3/
> 
> uhhh so this might tie into the other stories in this au (which for the record this fic is set before _one hundred aspects of the moon_ ) a little more than i'd like for it to stand alone, but anyway you're not required to have read those to read this one! they'd just provide some more understanding/additional backstory, is all. there's also like a 0.0005% reference to pre-nijihimu but they don't actually interact here.
> 
> mayuaka is messy and i live for messy so, here we go again.

“Why the hell did you change my assignment?”

“I think your talents could be used elsewhere for a change,” Akashi says smoothly, despite the terrible crackling static over the phone. “And besides, you’ve never liked flying.”

Mayuzumi groans into the receiver, then coughs as the man at the desk looks up from the daily newspaper at his general direction. The line behind him is growing restless; for all the money the aviation division makes, the lack of public phones in or around the building is laughable. “I never said that.”

“I’ll see you in the records room, Chihiro,” is all Akashi says to end the conversation, followed by a little click.

 

 

Mayuzumi keeps to the walls as people scurry about the length of the hallway, upright businessmen in their suits and officers from the flight division and journalists clamoring for Akashi’s presence. He should’ve just stuck to taking the back lift most of the crewmen use, but at least nobody seems to notice as he slips past the door into the side stairs.

He finds Akashi thumbing through the contents of a trunk of old papers in the back, obscured by piles of old reports. “You’re awfully okay with leaving that door unlocked.”

“We aren’t conducting illegal business today, Chihiro,” Akashi answers, barely looking up from the yellowing pages. Mayuzumi snorts and leans against the shelves, any smarmy remark about Akashi getting his hands dirty forgotten as he swipes the topmost page from a nearby, smaller pile.

“Incoming Class of 19— I’m not here to help you hire new pilots, I’m assuming.”

“Be quiet.”

Akashi rarely talks about work when they’re together in private, seemingly preferring Mayuzumi’s banal complaints and debating and endless rounds of chess. Of course; Mayuzumi knows nothing about running a company, and has no interest in the lives of the rich and mighty save for what he could glean for his writings here and there. Akashi is far from the kind of person who would give information away willy-nilly, much less company secrets or whatever he’s currently preoccupied with. Which could only mean, really, that Mayuzumi doesn’t have to wait for Akashi to open his mouth to already know nothing good can come of this.

“I’d like you to meet one of the new recruits,” Akashi says finally, after he’s done sorting through the piles. He smiles down at Mayuzumi and holds out a roll of newspapers. “Not today, mind you, but well… you’d be so kind as to help me put these back in place first, won’t you?”

“Hell no,” Mayuzumi replies, but he does so anyway like the fool that he is.

 

 

Mayuzumi rarely ventures into Gion, despite Hayama’s persistent nagging. He rarely ventures far from his _apartment_ outside of work and eating and Akashi Time, preferring to spend what little free time he has with his books and manuscripts. If becoming Akashi’s occasional personal assistant—errand boy, he corrects himself—is yet another way of trying to get him to go outside like a normal person, well.

Akashi had given him little information about this assignment other than _go to the teahouse_ , which set in motion the kind of stray thoughts that has Mayuzumi thinking he should’ve demanded extra insurance before leaving the office. He had been given no weapons, which at least means he isn’t being sent to off anyone. In any case, he isn’t being paid enough to do that.

The letter in his bag has its address in some foreign language Mayuzumi can’t read, adding to his suspicions teeming with images of company spies and back-alley deals. _Don’t think too much into it_ , Akashi had told him before he left, _I just need you to deliver this before you get on the next flight_.

It’s not that simple, Mayuzumi knows. Even someone like him has heard of Yosen Teahouse and its renowned performers before, though he has no idea why Akashi would be bothering with them through him. _A test?_

“Hello?”

Nobody had noticed him come in. Just as well, he thinks as he stands in the foyer like an idiot, listening to the murmur of quiet, indecipherable conversation coming from the one of the many rooms down the long wooden hallway. The rustling of clothes out of sight tell him this is a busy time, though he can see no movement from where he stands save for a slight fluttering of clipped branches artfully placed near the entrance. Presently a door slides open, and Mayuzumi looks up from studying the shoes lined neatly in nearby cubby holes.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No—” Mayuzumi blinks as the man approaches, the intricate lavender-and-gold patterning on his black kimono somehow less striking than his face, half-obscured by jet black hair in a style that would look ridiculous on anyone else. The tiny lacquered beads pinned to the side of his head clinks pleasantly as he looks down at the letter in Mayuzumi’s hands. A slight flicker of recognition in his visible eye is all Mayuzumi needs. “I’m… I’m just here to deliver this.”

The man gives him a polite smile, though there is something strained there Mayuzumi could see behind his expression. “I see.”

“So—”

“I’ll take it from here, then.” He takes the letter and slips it into his sleeve, still sealed. Then, a brief nod as he turns back towards the hallway, “Thank you.”

 

 

“Are you running a spy ring?” Mayuzumi asks the next time he meets Akashi in private again, two weeks later. “Who was that guy? Was it— ”

“You ask too many questions,” Akashi murmurs against his shoulder, though it doesn’t carry the kind of bite from last time. “I’m afraid my life is far less interesting than those mystery novels you love so much, Chihiro. And that... is an investment. It is not quite the right time now, though I wonder in a few months…”

Mayuzumi rolls his eyes, though he knows Akashi cannot see. “Do you ever talk about people like they’re, you know, _people_?”

“You’re a person.”

“You don’t talk _about_ me to anyone,” Mayuzumi retorts, and they both fall silent. It’s true, though Mayuzumi supposes, not without a touch of irritation, that he’d really rather it this way. They have been discreet enough this entire time, and rumors running amok in the office would only hinder anything going forward. He puts a hand awkwardly on Akashi’s back. “I… not that I want you to.”

“I know what you mean,” Akashi replies quietly, looking up from his position on Mayuzumi’s lap.

Oh.

“Forget it,” Mayuzumi says, burying his face into Akashi’s neck, but it’s the only thing he could think about for the rest of the afternoon.

 

 

The next day Mayuzumi goes to Fukuoka, then to Hakodate, then back to the Kyoto office where he is to stay for the next three months, according to the employee bulletin—which has never happened before. He’s in the middle of considering all the things he’s done the past month to rile up Akashi when Hayama bounds into his peripheral vision, too full of energy as usual. “What.”

“Come on, smile a little, dude,” he complains as Mayuzumi turns away from him and back to his desk, rolling his eyes. Hayama reaches around to wave a slip of paper in front of his face. “Got this for you!”

Mayuzumi snatches at the slip only for Hayama to pull away at the last minute. “Oi.”

“What was that?”

He groans. “...Alright. Thanks for delivering the message, Hayama. Can I please have it now?”

Hayama grins, dropping the slip into his open hand. It's typed, which makes sense, but makes him frown all the same. “You got it!”

Mayuzumi resists the urge to flip him off as he bounces out of the room.

 

 

“This is Captain Nijimura Shuuzou,” Akashi says, “Of the _Hundred Lights_. You’ll be handling the ground radio for his flights for the next three months at the station here, Mayuzumi-san.”

Or in Akashi-speak, _I’m keeping you close to me_ ; there’s never been any reason for Mayuzumi to doubt his instructions on a technical basis, but _this_ is as bold as he’s ever gotten in public, in front of someone else. Mayuzumi studies the man sitting next to Akashi in the coffee house, tall and clean-shaven and reacting to Akashi in a familiar sort of way. He’s seen Nijimura in the hallways before, infrequently, and elsewhere: on one of the photos in Akashi’s stack of reports.

Huh.

“Nice to meet you,” Nijimura says, holding out a hand that Mayuzumi only gingerly accepts under Akashi’s watchful eye. There’s something sharp about this man that he isn’t entirely sure about, though not in a sly sort of way. Certainly it’s a nice change from this year’s younger officers, particularly the blond one who’s made a habit of fraternizing heavily with the crew.

That aside, none of this—the radio business, meeting a colleague for the first time—warrants them coming all the way out here to the other side of the city to sit in a dingy roadside coffee house that Akashi Masaomi would be horrified to know his son ever stepped foot in. Mayuzumi waits for the other shoe to drop.

Except it doesn’t. They talk about work, and the weather; or rather, Akashi and Nijimura talk as Mayuzumi sips at his bland, watery coffee, occasionally making noises of assent or disagreement when needed. He watches Nijimura carefully, listens to Akashi’s queries about his father and health and a great many other things that Mayuzumi deems internally as pushing unsuitable conversation in front of an almost-stranger.

And then he realizes: _do you ever talk about people like they’re people?_

“It’s getting kind of late,” Mayuzumi interrupts, as soon as the next lull in the conversation occurs. He doesn’t acknowledge the surprised look on Nijimura’s face, or Akashi’s raised eyebrow that quickly settles into placid agreement.

They file out of the establishment into the now rainy evening, the cobblestone streets illuminated with mellow streetlight. Mayuzumi looks glumly up at the cloudy sky, brushing droplets from his hair.

“So, neither of us brought umbrellas,” Mayuzumi begins as they wave Nijimura off into the night. It’d do no good for anyone to see them hanging out here much longer, despite Akashi’s attempt at disguise (though the hat certainly comes in handy for this rain.) “I’ll just—”

“Quite the contrary,” Akashi replies, producing one from his oversized coat, the very same one he’d worn to Mayuzumi’s apartment. Mayuzumi quirks an eyebrow at him as he opens it and then, in one fluid motion, holds it out, as if a threat. “Do you mind?”

“I don’t think we live in the same direction,” Mayuzumi says. He takes the umbrella and holds it over both their heads as they start walking, first in silence as the rain patters down and the occasional whir of carriages pass them by. What people are out and about keep their heads down and eyes on the ground as they hurry to get out of the rain, caring little if at all about looking up.

Mayuzumi is used to this. He thinks, glancing down at Akashi, whose face is still obscured by the hat, maybe it would even feel attractive, to someone like that.

“Was that too much?” Akashi asks suddenly, catching him off guard. One, because they’re in public, never mind the fact that it's raining hard enough for nobody else to hear; two, Akashi’s asking a question like _that_. Mayuzumi weighs his options.

“You seem to know each other pretty well.”

“I went to school with Nijimura-san.”

“So it’s not weird introducing me, specifically, to him.”

“I have plans for him.” Then, glancing up at Mayuzumi for the first time since they’ve started walking, “He doesn’t need to know about us yet.”

 _Yet_. A public carriage station is in the distance, though Mayuzumi knows full well Akashi would never ride one he hasn’t called himself. He wonders if that’s what he’s going to do, or if Mayuzumi would need to strong-arm him into one to make sure he goes home. Home to his lonely mansion in the outskirts of town, instead of Mayuzumi’s shoddy apartment, or—

 _You know what this is?_ He wants to blurt out, suddenly, _you feel like you don’t have any control over your own life so you’re trying to play matchmaker with your underlings now. I see you, Akashi Seijuurou, I know your game._ But he remains silent, not exactly having a wish to die spectacularly at the ripe old age of 25.

“You could’ve told me beforehand,” is all he says. A carriage veers dangerously close, splashing water towards them. Mayuzumi reaches out and pulls Akashi closer, away from the street.

“I could’ve,” Akashi concedes, softly. “You’re right, Ch— Mayuzumi-san.”

“Alright,” Mayuzumi says. He stops in the middle of the street, turning around to face Akashi. “You’re mad at me, aren’t you.”

“I’m not.”

“Liar.” The lantern-lights of the nearby izakaya paint the streets with a watercolor-like quality, and Akashi, half-swallowed by the building’s shadow, gives him an incomprehensible look. Mayuzumi’s edging closer into dangerous territory now, he knows; but under cover of the night, away from the offices, among strangers, all of it suddenly seems to matter very little. “I know what you’re gonna say, that we’re in public, tell me I don’t know anything, all of that, but—”

Akashi’s voice is level as he speaks. “You’re being quite unfair.”

“Am I?” Mayuzumi asks, quickly. “Maybe I am, but I think also—I think you’re being unfair to yourself.”

There is an uproar behind them; the radio’s broadcast too garbled for them to hear through the izakaya entrance, perhaps a sports upset. The rain continues over their heads, pattering down on the sturdy umbrella, sliding off into rivulets running beneath their boots.

 _Ah, fuck,_ is all he can think through the haze of rain-induced mist rising up from the ground, the rowdy captive audience, the people pushing past them to get to where they want to go. Too far.

“I know where I want to go,” Akashi says finally. “What is best for me, my life. Do _you_ know that, Chihiro?”

 _Do you want to?_ The question lingers in the air for a moment before dissipating into the music around them, old tunes from the radio in some faraway place. There are a thousand answers Mayuzumi could use, to steer the conversation back to the start: _why would I want to_ or _it’s not my place_ or even _I’m sorry, you’re right, I shouldn’t have said all that._ All of which would have been true in some earlier time, when only casual conversation existed between them and body language remained the only thing they shared between bedsheets. When it had only been an arrangement, a convenient rendezvous, a call from a stranger’s phone telling him where to be, where to go. When he hadn’t cared nearly as much, preferring to remain ignorant despite everything, because, _because—_

“I don’t,” Mayuzumi admits, shoulders slacking. Akashi’s eyes are fire, beacons in the night that, if they were warning him away, he chooses for the first time in his life to ignore those warnings. “I just wish you could tell me.”

Too far, not far enough. It’s all he wants to know, beyond company numbers and pretty faces and sharp-eyed captains. Where he stands and what he should hold on to; certainly it isn’t a conversation meant to be held here in public, under the stark lights of an uncaring world. Maybe he’s selfish for that, but he’s never pretended otherwise.

“Is that so?” Akashi says, quieter but no less resolute. He stands so close that Mayuzumi breathes in his expensive cologne, intermingled with the scent of rainwater, a hint of charcoal smoke. “Well, I can tell you this much.”

Despite his proclivity for novel cliches, Mayuzumi had never expected his own life to turn out that way; he keeps his indulgences practical, his fantasies tightly locked away. But it seems almost natural to him this time, the inclination of his head meeting Akashi’s, and the kiss that follows.

He’s dimly aware of the rainwater soaking his sleeve by the awkward positioning of his hand holding the umbrella, and Akashi’s arm clinging to his. He’s also very aware of the warmth on his lips telling him this is a declaration of war as much as it is an olive branch, that the chapter has not reached its resolution, that Akashi would not be apt to let anyone forget who he is. But Mayuzumi also knows, by the tightening of arms around him, that two can play this game.

When they break apart, nothing changes; the people who stream by them do not stop to gawk, to whisper, to shout names. Mayuzumi knows it to be a wordless declaration, regardless of whether or not anyone wants to listen. The world keeps turning, as if no monumental shift has just occurred, as if they are invisible within the myriad happenings of the city, if only for tonight.

As it should be.

“So,” Akashi says, breathless, the faintest trace of pink across his cheeks doing little to undercut his commanding tone of voice, “Will you walk me to the station or not, Chihiro?”


End file.
